


Actions, Not Words

by LuxaLucifer



Series: The Love of Zevran Arainai's Lives [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M, but i dont want to torture anyone by listing that as a main pairing, mentions of cousland/anora
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 20:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3783439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxaLucifer/pseuds/LuxaLucifer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You came back.” </p>
<p>Zevran said the words lightly, turning back to the merchant he was bartering with for a new belt. He finished the transaction, paying only a pittance of the original price and began walking, letting the Warden stumble forward a few steps to catch up with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Actions, Not Words

“You came back.”

Zevran said the words lightly, turning back to the merchant he was bartering with for a new belt. He finished the transaction, paying only a pittance of the original price and began walking, letting the Warden stumble forward a few steps to catch up with him.

“I came back,” said the Warden, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he caught up with Zevran’s long strides. They passed from building to building. Normally the brightly decked out street of Antiva City would have drawn his full attention, bursting full with activities and stalls on a holiday like this. He could smell a stand of pastries to his left and hear the shouts of washerwomen above as they aired the laundry from windows and gossiped

Today, however, his attentions were focused on something else entirely.

“Wasn’t your ship supposed to leave this morning?”

“Yes,” said the Warden.

“Doesn’t your country need its King? That’s what you told me last night. You have your country. You have your Queen.”

“I was wrong,” said the Warden. There was honesty in his tone, and sounds of Zevran’s boots (given to him by the Warden so long ago) on the cobbled road stilled.

“You told me you love her,” said Zevran. He almost lost the words as they went from his throat to his mouth, stumbling on the sounds instead of speaking in his normal clear tone.

“I do love Anora,” said the Warden. The words were daggers in him, but Zevran had survived stabbings before. His face stayed impassive.

“I love you more,” continued the Warden, taking a step toward him. He was so much taller than Zevran.

“You toss around that word. You cannot say these things and then do something so contrary as to leave, again,” said Zevran, turning from the Warden’s advances and to a stall advertising warm clothing in case of a cold spell. There would be no cold spell, not in the heart of summer in Antiva, but he looked anyway, and to anyone who was watching he would appear very interested in the thick plaideweave stockings.

“Look at me,” said the Warden, voice breaking. “Please, Zevran, don’t do this. I came back. I’m sorry I left like I did, but I’m here now.”

“You never answered my earlier question,” said Zevran, so intent on the plaideweave that the seller was starting to get excited. “What about your country?”

“Anora is a good ruler,” he said. “Better than me. For some reason I thought I’d be good at it. That I’d change Ferelden. She can do that for me, though. To be happy, I need you. I’ll stay with you in Antiva City. Forever if you want.”

“You’re saying a whole lot,” said Zevran, eyebrow cocked.

“And how do you want me to show you, exactly?”

“Large displays of affection usually work,” said Zevran. “Perhaps hang your underthings on an important monument?”

“Lacking that,” said the Warden. “What if I showed you the letter I’m writing Anora? I mean, obviously that’s not as good as the undergarment thing, but it’s a start.”

The Warden handed him a scroll of parchment, which he unraveled, trying to do it in a way that showed he didn’t care. Failing, of course. He’d always cared about that damn man.

He was stepping down as King. Officially. And, in the last few lines, he was apologizing to Anora. Telling her he was sorry. Zevran skimmed through that bit. It was personal, a part of the Warden’s life he didn’t need to know. Signed, Maric Cousland, with that annoying flourish he had.

“Interesting decision,” he said. “We may have to go to Ferelden to deliver it, though.”

The Warden- his Warden- tilted his head. “Why?”

“It’s a bit cruel to break up with someone via letter,” said Zevran, reprimanding him by shaking the scroll in his direction. “In person is kinder.”

“That means….”

“You’ve missed out on a lot, mi amor,” said Zevran. “It’ll take you a while to catch up, but I think you’re up to the task.”

The Warden opened his mouth to speak and reached out to caress the tattoos on Zevran’s face, the same way he’d done it in their tent during the Blight, but Zevran swatted the hand away and leaned over, kissing him soundly on the mouth. “Just remember,” he said. “Actions, not words.”


End file.
